Yami Hikari
by Shiro Ryuu
Summary: [RyouxBakura] How do you define a devil... let alone a devil who’s getting bored of being a devil? Bakura’s fractured musings, rated for implied lemon. Dedicated to Misura.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, other than that little island off the coast of New Guinea of course. (blinks innocently) What?

**AN: **I blame it on Misura. Incidentally, I also dedicate it to Misura. I also blame it on FullMetal Alchemist. And doughnuts. I don't dedicate it to FullMetal Alchemist, though. Or doughnuts. Capice? I'm afraid that I tend to decide what I'm trying to say with a story as I'm writing it, so it might be a bit confusing. Practitioners of Wicca say that they do not include a devil figure in their religion because to name a devil would be to give it an existence - a rather ancient concept, I think; kind of interchangeable with 'speak of the devil and he will come.' People also say that you can judge a person by the company that he keeps. It'll all make sense - well, maybe, if you squint.

_**Yami Hikari**_

It's cold tonight. So very, very cold. I think winter has broken at last. The wind up here - on the roof of Ryou's house - numbs me to the bone in a way that I hadn't thought possible. No matter how many of them I see, I don't think I'll ever get used to the winters in this place.

_Ryou. _He waits for me inside, like always, as patient and as certain as death - for certainly I'll come crawling back to him eventually. A part of me wonders muzzily why it always has to be that way. I'm a cold-blooded murderer, a pillager of the tombs of kings, a lost soul who has defied the gods for millennia - and perhaps that was the problem. I spent all my time insisting that I had no heart... and you can't guard something that you don't have...

Ah, what nonsense. _I _barely understand it. But I don't really understand what he's done to me, either. What is he, really, after all? Just a whiny, weepy twit.

_-and sunshine and laughter and smiles and ice-cream and playing in the autumn leaves-_

I grimace at the thought. Horrid brat, I tell myself firmly. I don't know what ever possessed me to think that this - this _thing_, whatever you'd call it - that we've sort of stumbled into could actually work. Sure, it would've been just fine, if he didn't talk. But he does talk, and when he talks, we argue. It's amazing, the things we find to argue about; little things - globs of toothpaste in the sink, dirty dishes, his stupid friends - and big things - life and death, right and wrong, yours and mine...

We argued tonight, and that's why I'm up here. Such a stupid argument. It seems that I never bother to address him by name, but merely call out 'Hey, you!' - or so I have been informed. I never pay attention to things like that; I hadn't noticed. But - I protested - it seemed odd to call him 'Ryou', when nobody ever calls him that (except his father, who's never home). That seemed to hit a sore spot, but he suggested shyly that I could call him 'hikari', as he calls me 'yami.' I just scoffed at that, and he demanded to know what was so wrong with it - and, I don't know, I guess it all went downhill from there. Stupid little _girl_, he would never understand...

The wind is a cat-o'-nine-tails made of ice; I shudder in pleasure at the pain it delivers, and wonder how much longer I can last. This body isn't as good as the old one; it's more like his... but he's waiting inside, I can feel him...

I just don't know. Obviously my wits have been dulled by spending time with him, because I can't quite understand exactly _why _I have this aversion to thinking of him as my lighter half. I guess I just don't want to be reduced to something as two-dimensional as the evil twin - who would, eh? Mad I may be, at times, but there has always been a method to it. The ends justify the means. Yes... it doesn't matter how many other people's most-beloveds have to suffer, so long as _mine _are avenged...

I smile into the wind, teeth bared to the canines like a rabid jackal. Is that what this is about, then? Guilt - now, of all times? I'm angry at him because he reminds me of my indelible sins, and all I could have been without them, is that it? I bark out a laugh. I have no doubt that witnessing the murder of a hundred or so individuals can change a person - but could I have really been so naïve, otherwise?

The wind is making me feel ill, and dizzy. The sky seems too big, and I bow my head to it; my sudden burst of bitterness is gone. And if I call him 'hikari' and he calls me 'yami', will it define me, the way speaking of a devil brings him to you? And will I be locked into my chosen role forever, unable to change?

Or is this just a superstitious illusion I've created in my mind, made up to mask the fact that no one is to blame for my own stagnation but my own self? Is what little sanity I have trickling through my fingers, without my even realizing it? Because these thoughts are as unintelligible to me as a crazy man's rantings, except they're in my own head. In frustration, I wheel around to the hatch into the attic and climb down the ladder, trying not to think too hard about it.

Ryou is waiting. He is always waiting, sitting quietly in a corner until he'd needed. He comes forward, now, wraps a blanket around my shaking shoulders and presses a steaming cup into my hands, guides me to a chair next to the heater. I can barely feel the warmth. He doesn't say a word, but just sits down at my side and smiles, as if he'd known everything all along. It really annoys the heck out of me, when he smiles like that.

And all of a sudden I'm kissing him; the blanket pools carelessly on the floor around my feet as I tower over him, trying to look intimidating. And now he's taking off his shirt; he smiles coyly at me as I sneer, trying to camouflage my hurry. And now we're on the floor, somehow. And nothing matters anymore, not even light and dark - not even life and death or right and wrong or yours and mine... not even globs of toothpaste in the sink or dirty dishes or his stupid friends... For that short time, things like names and labels just don't matter anymore, and as I'm falling asleep, I think I start to understand something.

Things like that - things like 'yami' and 'hikari' - are only faces we put on during the day, and they're really terribly self-centered. In the dark of the night, when the wind is blowing in the first winter storm and there are blankets and steaming drinks and electric heaters, you realize that there are some things that are a lot more important. And you begin to wonder - is the devil defined by the name you give him, or by the company he keeps?

**Owari**


End file.
